Gangster rap has never been more inaccurate…

Mugged in Nottery – Huzai_Verlaat_You.

Of all the things that attracted me to my husband in our courtship, his sense of humour was on top of the list. We connected at the first pun, and our constant banter has been a punishment in itself ever since.

We also enjoy puns about Pop Culture, whether we point out Harry Potheads, or sell Muggles.

And yes, whenever I post something untoward on Facebook, I get reported and end up on an Azkaban.

Some days, he takes advantage of the fact that I try to find the funny side of most things… but the situation with my son and his alleged father, Not-Huzaifah is a volatile subject… most days, anyway.

While meandering through Canal Walk at the weekend, I was in a foul mood for two reasons.

The first was that my bladder infection had dragged me by the clitoris for the last 24 hours, and instead of being able to rest with my “feet” up, I was out delivering mugs on my day off.

The second, and even more vagina-cramping problem, was that my son’s dad had still not replied to my messages regarding where exactly, when exactly and why exactly he felt the need to see his son after so long.

Labarang had long passed, as he had asked me to wait until after Eid to inform me of logistics regarding their reunion. And at this point I felt like he was taking us all for a Labarang Gatjie.

Riyaahd: When are you gonna tell your readers the rest of the story.

Me:I am too angry to talk about it.

Riyaahd: I know baby, but you made a commitment.

Me:Yeah. What’s for supper.

Riyaahd: Make anything baby.

Me: I’ll check my cookbook, smaak for some Malay vibes.

Riyaahd giggles.

Me:What?

Riyaahd:Huzaifa didn’t like your cook book.

Me:Hilarious.

I wasn’t impressed with my “better half’s” moronic choice of wordplay, but assumed that rukking my gat op would give the hint that I wasn’t feeling playful.

Riyaahd, however, has never been good at taking cues. His laughter grew into a silent scream…. He was now heaving uncontrollably.

At this point I stopped walking, annoyed by him taking this very very serious situation so lightly.

Me: How is this funny?

Riyaahd:He didn’t like your cookbook……

Me: …Yes, you said that

Riyaahd: ………………. so he left you for a Fatima Side-Hoe.

My husband was nearly in tears.

Riyaahd:Get it. He…..(Laughter)…… decided to Ma-lay with her.

This poes.

I tallak you.

After Canal walk I went to fetch my kids at my mother’s apartment, and was happy to sit down somewhere comfortable to take the pressure of what I can only assume was Herpes 2.0

Mom:En as jy poes eerste hier in loop?

If only she knew that’s how I had been walking into places my whole life.

Why do you think I am in this.. Pre-dick, I meant…..

….

Let me tell you, there is nothing funny about the following story.

If you have ever had a child, with a partner who didn’t want them, then you know that even in the most poetically crafted words no positive feelings like laughter and joy can be squeezed from it.

A single mother is a rock. She has to be.

We are the ones who are left to raise our mistakes in the open, alone. We are told how we have ‘destroyed our lives’, and we are made to feel ashamed that even carrying a man’s baby did not make him stay.

And then, when those of us ‘lucky’ enough are taken in by a man, despite our ‘prior discrepancies’, people think that we should be grateful and accept anything that is thrown our way.

And if the ‘father’ of the child we have had to raise with our own blood, sweat and shame decides that he is finally partied-out and uit-ge-naai enough to make an indefinite cameo in that child/human’s life, we need to step back and “let the child decide – it is togma his daddy hey”.

All of you that think you have a say in whether I let a stranger see my child can kruip in your poes. Unfollow me. Unfriend me. Unlearn my name.

Call me Not-Shana.

This was a necessary disclaim her.

Even though I am married, I will always be a single mother. I will always identify with the woman in the Sassa line, who doesn’t know how she is going to get her kids to school, or who is going to buy her son’s school shoes when the old ones break.

There is nothing funny about the stories that we as single mothers have to tell.

There is nothing that justifies a man walking out on his children.

We need to start insulting deadbeat dads, instead of shaming women who take responsibility.

The anger filled my chest as I stood in the back room of my home.

I ran to the back as soon as my phone rang, so that my son didn’t realise that I was speaking to Darth Vader. The man who had turned his mother into a Star Whore.

Ironically, his actual father, Riyaahd, was distracting him. At least I was no longer Hans Solo parenting. Sitting at my desk right now, writing out the actual events of the past two months, I am overwhelmed with a familiar dissatisfaction that every man I have ever allowed into my lyf has given me.

But I promised you a blow by blow of my 28 year series of unfortunate events.

In the call, Not-Huizafa had requested pictures to see what Sidney looked like. I decided to oblige. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t see on Facebook… or in the mirror.

I gathered all the images of Sidney in which he resembled Not-Huzaifa, which wasn’t difficult, and sent a batch Whatsapp, as if no time had passed.

How unceremoniously significant my Whatsapp has become over the years.

The Day that Lyle died, his mom told me over Whatsapp.

The day my dad had a stroke, my mom Whatsapp called me.

And now, after seven years of absolutely no word, and in this case, word means maintenance, I feel obliged to Whatsapp images of my child to Voldemort… while hoping it will pull at his biological father’s thus far non-existent heart strings.

I don’t actually know what I was expecting, but I can tell you it felt pathetic. Again, I was at the mercy of a man, in the most indirect way.

His sudden interest reeked of a Hairy Bunghol.

I felt deep down that he would Ron, Weasly.

I felt angry the entire time. But I thought I was doing my son a service by holding on to his father’s lifeline that had been thrown.

But three-headed dogs were not meant for leashes.

Not- Huzaifa whatsapped me:

“Aw man yor I’m melting here. Thank you for the pictures and I promise I’m going to do my best for this little man of ours….I appreciate this a lot thank you so much”.

OURS?

This child is HerMIONE.

But…. I honestly felt proud of myself.

Isn’t that an awful realisation?

I am not sure what it says about the power men have over women, or whether it is testament to my own low self esteem… but my knee-jerk reaction was pride that I had finally won my son his affection and given the anger I have felt for the last seven years a purpose.

In retrospect I should have said “Nee, jerk!”.

But my weakness responded:

“Okay. I await your call.”

Twelve hours later my fears were confirmed.

“Hi Shana, I got some things forwarded to me about what ur putting up about me. I understand we have a lot to work on but can please take it off….it’s affecting my work and family ties….we will work on this because that’s our son and I’m going to do what I can for him but please its affecting my work….I already got a long term friendship ended due to this….please can u find it in your heart to stop it. But thanks again for the pictures and enjoy your day”.

His family ties?

… like his son, right?

But thanks again for the pictures and enjoy your day”.

But thanks again for the pictures and enjoy your day”.

But thanks again for the pictures and enjoy your day”.

Apparently not.

I am going to end this blog, with the same way I ended that conversation.

[09:47, 6/13/2017] : Hi Huzaifa. Is that the reason you approached me? Because of my blog?

[09:49, 6/13/2017] : I need you to understand that seven years is a long time and so much has happened. the way I dealt with my feelings is by blogging. As for your friendships ending, that is not aabout me. Nothing I said was a lie. You abandoned Sidney Jonah. There is a seven year old boy who keeps asking why his dad doesnt want him. Your social life is the least of my concern.

[09:50, 6/13/2017] : A whatsapp message and a phonecall after seven years is hardly enough to make me want to do anything for you.

Thanks for the sperm…. Enjoy your day.

….Never to be heard from again.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO PURCHASED MY LIMITED EDITION MUGS. AS ALWAYS, THERE WAS A PROBLEM WITH DELIVERY, LEAVING ME LOOKING LIKE A CROOKED NAAI. THIS IS MA THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE.

I APPRECIATE EVERY WOMAN AND MAN WHO HAS SEEN MY STORY, AND INSTEAD OF CALLING ME RUDE AND DISTASTEFUL, HAS READ IT AND SHARED IT, AND RELATED.

I AM PAST THE POINT OF WATERING DOWN HOW MANY TIMES I SAY NAAI. I AM ANGRY. AND MY ANGER HAS FUELLED MY PASSION TO EXPOSE THE WORTHLESS FUCKERS THAT GHOST GOOD WOMEN BECAUSE THEY AREN’T MAN ENOUGH FOR THEIR RESPONSIBILITIES.

Me: on Facebook, ooooooh Shana posted a new blog entry, logs off Facebook, immediately logs on to wordpress,
Also me: this ma se ####, even though I am not a mother, I know exactly what it feels like to have a sperm donor for a father, who comes for you after a lifetime(ek glo mos, don’t come for me, unless I send for you). I too was raised by a stepdad, so trust me your son knows who his real father is, and it does not have to be tied by blood! I salute you and I can identify with each of your blogs, I respect the shit outta you!!!! And most importantly I am kak proud of you, cause for once here’s someone that speaks her mind, noba wie wat dink, op haar eie manier, min gespin soos nat wasgoed! Its refreshing,
En daarmee staan ek terug en wag in spanning vir die next blog entry!
xoxox

thank you, you made my evening with your wit, your well directed anger, your humour. I’ve been married 46 years to the one woman (we’ve been a couple since we were 16). our lives have been easy, comparatively speaking. we are from harfield, western cape and visited there, from australia, in april this year and december 2016. we were shocked to learn how very hard and depressing life is for the ‘ordinary’ man after living abroad for more than 30 years. we ,too, have young ‘unattached’ mums in our families with babies from ‘invisible’ dads and know how strong these mums are – even though they are doing it tough. i love how you attack your situation with humour, but deep down – only a mum would know how it hurts.

Love, love and some more love for your blogs! You tell a story many have experienced but fear to speak of due to feeling ashamed. Thank you for giving a voice to those that have been muted and numbed by the judgements of others. You are inspiring change. Never forget how remarkable you are!

I love love love it. And I cannot say “shame” because that’s not why you’re blogging but for single parents, especially women are bounded together in this.
Just your authentic way you look at things and how you sum it up is really good.
Love your blog lady. Keep it up

You are “strength” woman. Dont you ever forgot that. That sperm donor can go fly a kite, you have a loving husband that loves your son like his own. You are blessed. With all that has been bad in your life, you made someone of yourself that your son can be proud of. And now your silver lining. After every storm the sun will shine again. Will miss your blogs on this subject. I know so many who can relate to you. You an inspiration. Keep grinding ☺

Shana, haters are always gonna hate! But you are a fab woman, writer, mother and wife. And you speak – no holds barred – from your heart. Well done for all you have done and gone through, and you and your Pun(ny) husband will do a great job for your kids 😊
Cheers! And thanks once more for a great, soul-bearing blog post!

My situation is the same as yours. I have a 6 year old daughter and a 6 month old son unfortunately both of them deserted their kids. My daughter is hospitalized in icu on a regular basis because she is so I’ll and even though her father knows this he will still prefer going out to drink instead of atleast sending her a get well balloon and then he still posts pictures about his being out drinking …then my son’s father he beat me after a month of marriage and then fled… his parents covered it up because he is a deacon and his father is a Shepard in the church but of course I am the vark in the verhaal. The one who is hustling her moer off to keep her kids healthy and clothed and fed without a fucking cent 🙂 I’m grateful for you sharing your story. How brave of you to open the door for so many other women. Those dead beats should be insulted and I think i will talk about and expose mine too….we cannot transcend the dark if we don’t bring it to light, right? Thank you again 💙💚💛💜❤

I wish I could sit down with you and just hug you! You said it. Like our mother’s and aunts and us all always say it. Like it is! Please don’t stop writing. Have you thought of a book??? Girrrrrrrrrrrrl!

This is what stood out for me the most… because i’ve had to hold back my anger because of the whole “its tog her daddy”
“And if the ‘father’ of the child we have had to raise with our own blood, sweat and shame decides that he is finally partied-out and uit-ge-naai enough to make an indefinite cameo in that child/human’s life, we need to step back and “let the child decide – it is togma his daddy hey”.
All of you that think you have a say in whether I let a stranger see my child can kruip in your poes.

Very powerful piece. Just to give you a bit of background, I am a single mom too, my son is 17. his donor has had the privilege of wading in and out of his life for the last 17 years. maintenance? lets just say when he has money – he gives me a bit. at 17 my son decided that he never wanted to see his father again. something had happened between the two of them that utterly destroyed my son. so here is my take: i spent 16 years trying to create a bond between these two humans, in the hope of being ‘the better person’. you know mos, no matter how the two of us ended (not good) that at least i would have done my part on keeping the lines of communication open between father and son. In the end; what evolved between father and son was even more destructive than i could have imagined. so i often wonder? should i have allowed father to see son. should i have encouraged that relationship? i never forced it, but it has become clear that father only really did what he needed to do as a father for appearance purposes (minus paying maintenance of course, he far preferred going around telling everyone he had this amazing son, as opposed to actually contributing to his upbringing). so my thoughts are this, if donor wants to go- let him go. the longer he stays the more damage he does. and believe me, he does.